


When The Past Comes To You

by super_rainbow2021



Series: NaNoWriMo 2019 [19]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), OC whump, Prompt Fic, Psychic Child, Queer Character, Traumatized character, Vague Mentions of Past Abuse, Whump, aziraphale is the principality of queer kids, character whump, i headcanon that it's God giving her the powers to see what she'll do with them, im so sorry why do i do these things, junior has a lot of angst, junior has a lot of powers that don't stop manifesting, mentions of past trauma, my poor baby, probably heavier angst than i intended, resolving angst, slight angst, starting to resolve trauma, telekinetic child, traumatized character unable to verbalize it as abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/super_rainbow2021/pseuds/super_rainbow2021
Summary: Standing at the door is an absolute street lamp of a man, probably the same height as Sam (and she does glare for a bit) with long red hair and dark sunglasses not unlike her own. He holds a box out to her with her old (legal) name on it, and she glares for a different reason.





	1. The Box

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that this is the first introduction of Junior to ao3, BUT this has nothing to do with her canon or other scenarios that I've written for her. There's /some/ more information on my tumblr (saltycaramelnut), but honestly not much. Bear with me here, I beg of you.
> 
> But yes, Junior has several unique abilities that stem from her telekinesis, the first of her powers to manifest at the age of 6. Then came seeing visions, then manipulating people's emotions and actions, then speaking telepathically, and then creating mind maps of her surroundings. Those are the powers she has at this point in time, a month or so after the end of Supernatural Season 3 (about three months before she turns 18). Take this snippet with a grain of salt if you want, but I am very invested in this character of mine that I've had in the making for a few years now.
> 
> The prompt was "Imagine a giant box is delivered to your front door stop with your name on it. What’s inside and what happens when you open it?"
> 
> also this is the link to the picture i was inspired by! http s://cogitae works.tumbl r.com/ima ge/18622454 5365 (remove spaces)

.º.º.º.º.

The summer is sweltering in Kentucky, and the air conditioner inside this hotel room is _divine._ A short girl unlocks the door and throws a card onto the bed before disappearing into the bathroom to take a cool shower. Ten minutes later, she reappears with her face pink from scrubbing her makeup off and a fluffy white towel around her body. She rubs a smaller towel over her head, and when she finally removes it, her honey hair shines in the afternoon light. She lets out a content - as content as she can be - sigh and opens her eyes to reveal bright emeralds.

Jaci Reyer, or now Junior Winchester, has rented a different hotel room than her adoptive father Sam Winchester - though she wonders if he is glad she’s out of his hair or wants to beg of her to come back, the only person he has left since the hellhounds dragged Dean off - and then the tears start again. Junior curses to herself and throws the towel in the direction of the bathroom, a shaky hand coming up to clutch at her necklace. The rose gold chain shimmers in the orange light and the healing runes glow softly as she strokes the diamonds on the other side of the tear-drop shaped pendant. It’s the only thing she has left of her past life, from the mother she never got to meet, the one who gave her all her psychic powers. Junior sniffles and glares at the wall until her eyes stop leaking, then she pulls the towel from her to wipe her face. She walks to her duffle on the floor and pulls out a pair of black shorts and a metal band tee that used to be Dean’s - oh not _now_ stupid depression - that she slips on. The hanging sleeves cover the angel wing tattoo on her left shoulder, but not the intricate gun on her forearm. Junior strokes it almost lovingly, the pistol Dean favored the most, the one she keeps in her duffle now instead of in the Impala with the rest of their Hunting gear. Sighing, she rummages around to pull out a book from the bottom of the bag and settles on her rented bed.

The book is bound with an old leather that isn’t even sold nowadays, and the metalwork that used to be rusted now gleams a rose gold to match her necklace; Junior had risen a brow at it when she cleaned it, making the comparison with hesitance to acknowledge the possible coincidence or Fate that Belinda’s spell book had rose gold accents and she had a rose gold necklace that she’d gotten seventeen years prior. Presently, Junior can’t care less, because the book is _hers_ now to learn from and practice out of, and Belinda is dead anyway. Serves her right. Opening the book with a touch of her power that makes her eyes glow green for a moment, she leafs through it gently, seeing the notes she scrawled on separate papers that are now tucked between the yellow-brown pages. She flips to the page she left off on, enlargement spells that don’t require hex bags or any physical materials. They work on intent and pure power.

Then she’s startled as a knock sounds at the door. Green eyes snap up to it and start to glow as she looks through it to the person on the other side; she’s not expecting visitors. Standing at the door is an absolute street lamp of a man, probably the same height as Sam ( and she does glare for a bit ) with long red hair and dark sunglasses not unlike her own. In his hands is a large box with haphazard taping, but then she reads his aura and she’s off the bed in a second, a large knife in her left hand as she wrenches the door open, glaring with glowing eyes. The man - _demon_ \- standing at the door raises his dark eyebrows at her and amusement tugs his lips up in a smirk. He holds the box out to her with her old ( legal ) name on it, and she glares for a different reason.

“I assume I don’t need to ask if you’re Jaci Reyer?” he muses, voice deep and sultry and carrying an English accent. Junior’s eyes dim back to their emerald color and she stands straighter, not hiding the knife but not attacking either.

_“I_ assume you know who I am,”  Junior replies, trying to jut her chin up at him but she’s only five feet tall, so she’s already craning her neck to look up at him and the effort to jerk her head wouldn’t create the effect she’d be going for.  “So why would a demon show up at a Hunter’s door with a box with her name on it?”

The redheaded demon shifts and Junior catches a glance of yellow snake-like eyes behind the shades. “Well, it’s not really any of your business, but then again it kind of is when you’re the poor sod’s daughter, and Aziraphale basically shoved the box in my arms anyway-”

“What?”  Junior interrupts the man’s rambling.  “This is from … my father?” The last word tumbles out of her mouth softly, panicked, and she’s only been away from him for nine months, only been free of that hellhole ( though she does realize and understand the pain was caused by Belinda, the bitch ) for three-fourths of a year, not long enough to really know the world or what she wants to do in it or make a name for herself or _find_ herself, to pick herself up from the shattered pieces from over the years, to patch them up to make a pretty picture she’ll _like-_

“Hey now.” The demon’s voice is soft, which is weird, she thinks. He sets the box gently on the ground and crouches to seem less intimidating- and that _also_ seems weird to her. “It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s sick and dying, so he sold his soul to make sure you got this box.”

Junior hiccups and tries to regain her breathing - she was hyperventilating? - and looks down at the box, knife forgotten for now.  “Do you know what’s inside?” she asks, voice still cotton soft, words afraid to leave her own mouth. All those years of pain and suffering that weren’t really her father’s fault but Belinda’s, that she ended with the help of the Winchesters, can be put behind her?

The demon shakes his head, his long curls bouncing around his shoulders. “No, but he really wanted me to give it to you, very badly. You don’t … You don’t have to open it alone if you don’t want to,” he soothes.

“But I do have to open it.” It’s not a question, and she doesn’t frame it as such.

The demon nods. “I can be here, or I can get Sam-” Junior shakes her head quickly, so he nods and continues, “-or my pal Aziraphale. He’s an angel, so maybe you’d be more comfortable with him.”

Junior shakes her head again, not able to take her eyes off the box. The scrawl her name is written in is snake-like, though that’s an odd descriptor for handwriting.  “I haven’t dealt with angels before. I know how to deal with a demon if I need to.” She chances a glance up at the inadvertently aforementioned, but his wry smile has returned.

“Okay. Shall we?” He stands slowly and picks the box back up, and Junior lets him into her hotel room. She doesn’t let go of the knife, but she suspects she won’t need to use it. Who knew demons were so good with kids? ( Or, at least, this demon, with five-foot-tall teenagers scared to open a box that their supposed dying fathers send them as a sort of reconciliation attempt. )

.º.º.º.º.


	2. The Contents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we meet Aziraphale! And promises are made!

.º.º.º.º.

Junior’s still shaking when she brings the demon into her room and moves her spellbook so he can set the box down. She has no idea what can be inside that her father would be willing to _sell his soul_ to make sure she got, so she takes a step back to center her thoughts. “The name’s A. J. Crowley, by the way, if I’m going to be staying here with you.”

Junior shakes herself and looks up at the redheaded demon. “Just so I can open the box, and then you’ll be out of here faster than you can say ‘Hell’ or I’m shoving this knife into your neck,” she says, hands twitching at her sides as she glances at the haphazard tape job. She sets the knife down on the bed - instead of on the box, keeping it from the demon - but keeps it close by.

“Temper, temper,” Crowley says, and Junior’s head snaps back to him, a wounded and seriously grievous look on her face.

“You came here and told me my legal father, the one I lived with for almost seventeen years, is dying, when my Pops is in Hell and my … Sam is too busy drinking his girlfriend’s power from her blood to care about me.” Her voice is slightly strained, and she sounds so _so_ tired. “And you’re a demon, like the one who took my Pops’ soul and the one sleeping with Sam.” Junior shrugs here, a headache blooming behind her eyes. “Forgive me if you want me to trust you more.”

“No, no. I understand the lack of trust. Gonna have to do something about that Sam of yours, though, and ask Ruby just what she thinks she’s doing here,” he rumbles as he scratches his chin. She’s sure he means to mumble his second sentence, but Junior hears it clear as day and she gives the demon another look. He seems to shake himself and looks at her again through his sunglasses. “Shall we?” he asks again, gesturing to the box with an impeccably manicured hand. Junior sees gold detail on the pointy black nail of his left pinky finger but doesn’t voice anything. She takes a deep breath and inches closer to the large box on her bed, a thousand thoughts swirling in her head of just what is in the box.

Her nails are bitten down to the nubs - anxiety and depression - so she picks up the spelled knife and cuts through the tape on the top of the box so she can open the flaps. Once cut, she sets the knife down once more and takes a deep breath, glancing at Crowley in her peripheral again. Raising a shaking hand, she pulls back the flap on her side, then the opposite, then the left, and finally the right. When she peers into the box, she’s breathless again. Crowley raises an eyebrow as he leans closer, hands clasped behind his back as he gazes nonchalantly over its contents. There’re mugs and picture frames and a large photo album and even a jewelry box. Junior takes a shuddering breath and pulls out one of the white ceramic mugs, and sees a name scrawled in beautiful blue calligraphy.

_Lucille._

Junior gasps out a sob and nearly drops the mug as her hands start to shake. Crowley’s long - but skeletal - fingers come around and clasp loosely around her tiny, tiny hands and Junior tries to inhale a full breath. Oh. Oh. Her father didn’t throw everything about her mother away. So then … everything in this box is …

“Jaci,” Crowley says quietly.

Junior blinks the tears out of her eyes and gasps in a breath, nodding her head. Yes. Yes, she’s okay. More than okay. She hasn’t felt this okay in a very long time. “It’s-” She explodes in a laugh and Crowley helps her set the mug back in the box. “-my mother’s. _My mother.”_ She ends up beaming a wobbly smile and looks up at the demon, who smiles in such a soft way she forgets he’s a demon for just a moment. She sighs happily and wipes at her glittering emerald eyes, glancing at the box once more. Junior daintily pulls out a silver picture frame and gazes at her mother, her _beautiful, tired_ mother, whom she looks exactly like, holding a tiny baby girl in a tiny white blanket. Written on the bottom of the frame in the same beautiful calligraphy is:

_Mama Lucille and Baby Jaci - October 14th._

And then, as she turns it over, she reads her mother’s words, in the same silver cursive, that spurn flashes behind her eyes:

_I write these words with my dying breaths and a heavy heart. I pray my darling girl won’t suffer as I have with her inheritance. Jaci, know that I have loved you from the moment I found out I was having you. Know that your father has loved you from the moment we picked your name, painted your nursery, felt your kicks. I leave you my necklace to keep you safe, and Jack knows where my journal is._  
_ I love you._

Junior blinks away the vision that made her gasp initially, of her mother and her father, so so young, finding out about the pregnancy and arguing playfully about names - she might have been called Jacqueline had her mother won - and painting her nursery with blues and pinks and purples in the beautiful sunset she remembers and, finally, her tired, dying mother writing her parting words with a silver marker. ( Crowley had watched her curiously, having not seen a psychic in the midst of a vision since the Spanish Inquisition, as her eyes lightened slightly and her pupils shrunk to a size smaller than the head of a pin and her eyelids fluttered and she cried just a bit before she came back, eyes blinking quickly after not even a full minute, and her eyes darkened back to that enticing emerald color and her pupils grew back to a normal size. And then, even curiouser, the pendant hiding just under the neckline of her shirt started glowing a soft pink. He averted his eyes as she glanced back up and swiped her right wrist across her eyes. ) Junior then looks up at Crowley, tears glistening over her eyes again.

“These are all my mother’s things. Did … did he say anything about why he wanted me to have them?” Junior bites her lip and holds the picture closer to her chest.

Crowley shakes his head. “No, but I do know that he was relinquished from the witch’s spell after she was killed. Belinda, was it? I suspect he realized what he was doing all those years or at least felt bad about it, so he came to the crossroads and called up a demon, and I was the one who showed up.” He catches a weird look from the girl and waggles his manicured fingers, muttering, “Demon powers.”

Junior turns back to the box and sets the frame atop her spellbook, out of the way but still visible. Having an actual picture of her mother is something she never thought she’d have, and now that she does, she doesn’t want it out of her sight. Ever. Shaking her head and letting out a breath, she trails her fingers over the rims of the mugs, pulling them out one by one just to take a quick look, putting them back once she’s glanced over them all. She sets her hands on the spread folds of the box and takes another breath, and turns to Crowley. She goes to open her mouth - to thank him or order him out, she doesn’t know yet - when a bright light comes in from the hallway and phases through her closed door. Junior’s mouth snaps shut and she shields her eyes, head already pounding. A voice calls out from the light and Crowley actually _hisses._

“Aziraphale, I told you I was _fine._ She doesn’t like me, but she’s comfortable. She’s never seen an angel!”

“And I told _you,_ dear boy, that I have a responsibility as a Principality to ensure everything goes smoothly. Call me a stickler or an old man, but I do take these things seriously.”

Junior peeks between the cracks of her fingers and sees an older looking man, probably the same age as Crowley, with white-blond hair wearing a stuffy old suit with a tartan bow tie. Junior makes a noise of confusion and lowers her hands slowly, and moves to stand slightly behind Crowley, loathe as she is to ask for protection aloud. She gazes at the angel with furrowed brows and a guarded expression and steps slightly around the demon.

Aziraphale - that’s what Crowley called him - smiles warmly at the psychic. “Hello, dear girl. Don’t let Crowley fool you, he’s a very gentle sort and loves children.” He ignores the offended hissing coming from the demon in question, and Junior sees that he actually does have a forked snake tongue. He steps a bit closer and Junior matches his step by hiding back behind Crowley. But then the angel smiles patiently and halts his movement. “I came by to make sure everything was alright. I have a duty, you see, as a Principality-”

“-even though you’re not part of Upstairs anymore that I am of Downstairs-”

Junior glances between them ( painfully ) again and Aziraphale’s smile stays patient. “You are part of those I watch over and protect, whether you understand that now or not, and I wanted to make sure you were alright. This is an emotional turmoil for you, dear.”

Junior eyes the angel again and takes a step sideways, barely an inch out of Crowley’s shadow. The pain of her headache means to make her eyes flutter, but she shuts her mind against the throbbing and forces her eyes to stay open, to watch this angel for any sudden surprises. “Aziraphale,” Junior repeats, testing the name with a soft, cottony voice, and the angel nods, smile growing somehow warmer.

“Yes. I’m sensing a lot of raw emotion right now, would you mind if I took a closer look at that?” He seems genuine, but then again, so did most of Chappell, and they hurt her so bad.

Junior’s loathe to admit weakness in front of a potential enemy, but she’s so _tired_ of her trauma deciding things for her. “If you can fix the migraine you gave me, sure.” The angel nods absentmindedly and snaps his fingers, and her head stops throbbing. Junior blinks at the sudden painlessness and looks closer at the angel. His smile has not dimmed in the slightest and he’s waiting patiently for her to continue. Slowly, she nods. “Okay … so what did you want to do?”

Aziraphale steps a bit closer to the two of them and the box on the bed. “Your emotions are rampant from seeing your mother’s things, true, but you also have an unhealthy amount of trauma stunting your mental capacity.” Junior blinks at that. She opens her mouth to question him, but the angel continues, “If it is resolved, you will be able to understand why you are one of those I protect.” Aziraphale snaps his fingers once more and the shadows of her father are pressed down into the corners of her mind rather than front and center, teasing her and reminding her constantly. Junior sucks in a breath and a charm appears floating in front of her. One is a pure white crystal with lines of gold running through it and the other is a fluffy white feather, real and soft to the touch. Junior’s brows knit as she plucks it from the air.

“What is this?” she asks.

“I’ve taken away your chronic pains and repressed your bad memories, but this is to further protect you. I know you’re a Hunter, and I won’t ask that you give that up, but it wouldn’t hurt if you had further protection than the runes your mother gave you.” Aziraphale is smiling, and it’s infectious. Crowley steps around her and slides an arm around the angel, his smile a delicate curl of his lips that matches the purity of the entity beside him.

Junior doesn’t know what to say. Her headaches are … cured? She won’t get them anymore? It seems too good to be true, a miracle, but then she remembers that this is an angel and Aziraphale probably does this all the time. Her smile widens and she looks up at the two again, but something nudges at her. How they’re standing so close, lost in each other’s eyes like Sam and Dean used to, and a small pain blooms in her skull. Her eyes burn as she looks at them, and she suddenly sees millennia worth of memories and interactions between these two, how they fell in love and fought for each other and nearly ran away together when the Apocalypse started over in London. She didn’t know that the world almost ended, but she’s immensely grateful that these two stopped it.

She gasps as the images fly too fast across her eyes, and the two beings glance toward her again. “Jaci,” Crowley says softly, reaching a hand out to touch her arm. Aziraphale hovers without touching, in case he isn’t allowed, but bears the same concerned look Crowley has. The edge of his pinky, the one that has a gold ring, barely touches the one Crowley has gold detail on.

“You two,” she whispers, brow tightening as she blinks, awareness coming back slowly, “you’re …” _What? In love, a demon and an angel, stopped the Apocalypse, were thrown out of Heaven and Hell, are practically married, what? What do I say?_ “I saw your past,” she chooses to mutter.

“You did?” Crowley asks, tilting his head. Aziraphale looks incredibly excited.

“From the Garden to the Apocalypse.” Junior’s eyes dim completely and the natural green color shines before them. She glances between the two of them. “That’s another power I didn’t ask for.” She looks to the side, to the box of her mother’s things.

“Oh, my dear girl.” Aziraphale gently cups her right hand in both of his in case she wants to break free. She doesn’t. “I know this is confusing, but these powers of yours are a gift. If you need help controlling them or understanding them, you need but to ask.” His smile is warm and gentle, like him, and Junior turns back to him.

“Okay,” she says. “But I need a little time. I need to …” She glances to the box again. “… my mother’s things. I need to go through them.”

“Of course, dear girl.”

“But I will need help.” She catches Aziraphale’s blue eyes. “And I promise I will ask for it. It’ll be a little hard for me, but I’ll do it. Thank you for … everything.” She glances to Crowley as well, whose shades have slipped down his nose again. “And uhm, if you could do something about Ruby, I’d be so grateful.”

Crowley smiles at that, taking his sunglasses in his hand and peering at Aziraphale. “Well, we could have some fun with that, couldn’t we? Be like old times.” _Old times,_ of course, refers to the Apocalypse they stopped recently, too recently. Aziraphale glares playfully at his - _ineffable?_ \- husband, love all too visible in his eyes.

“We shouldn’t be too hard on the girl, Crowley. She’s only following orders.”

“Yeah, but we already stopped one Apocalypse. We don’t need another.”

Junior clutches the charm to her chest. “My pops is in Hell. I need _someone_ to talk to.” She looks up at them imploringly. Aziraphale smiles down at her again.

“Of course, my dear. Take your time with your mother’s things, and please, eat some real food?” Junior nods at him with a smile and the two beings leave her gazing hopefully into the box on her bed. Outside, after the hotel door is shut, Aziraphale looks to his demon. “She is wonderful, isn’t she?”

“She is, angel.”

“And so tiny! Adorable, really. Travel size!”

“Indeed, angel.”

“And she needs Sam. We have to get this Ruby out of here and away from them. She’ll make the boy a demon himself at this rate. Or Boy King of Hell.”

“Right as always, angel.”

Aziraphale casts a loving look to his demon. Six thousand years has changed nothing between them, not at all. Crowley catches the look and brings their clasped hands up to his face, and places a kiss on the gold ring his angel always wears. The blond man gives a cute laugh as his cheeks pink, and then they’re standing at the hotel door they were asked to visit.

“A gentle sort of sternness if you would, dear?”

“Of course, angel.”

.º.º.º.º.

And then, years later, when Junior realizes and accepts that she’s aromantic and asexual, she receives a card via an actual postman from Aziraphale ( which also has Crowley’s signature ) congratulating her and accepting her as well as a box of ( signed ) books with asexual and aromantic characters. Junior actually laughs when she sees an edition of the _Archie_ comics, signed of course, where Jughead pretty much says that he’s asexual. Junior doesn’t cry that day, she doesn’t, but she does make sure to send a box of Junior Mints over to Aziraphale’s book shop. Angels aren’t so bad, she decides.

.º.º.º.º.


End file.
